


cycle of fifths

by lyefish (belgianblue)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Canon Compliant, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Language Kink, Mild Praise Kink, Object Insertion, Overstimulation, PWP, medal fucking, minor edging, no nutritional value whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 02:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11282355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belgianblue/pseuds/lyefish
Summary: Yuuri is sublime, spread out over Victor's bed, bound and tangled and weighed down in gold medals.In other words; it seems such a shame to just let all those medals sit in a case and collect dust (or at least Victor and Yuuri seem to think so).





	cycle of fifths

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this was _dreaming of olympic (cock) rings_ but it seemed like too much of a tease seeing as there are not olympic medal cock rings to be had. That being said:
> 
> There is no substance, only filthy, _filthy_ porn.

 

Yuuri's breaths are punching out of his lungs in short, harsh pants, sweat beading on his skin, dew-like. Tremors travel from his lips to his toes, where Victor's eyes pin him down, a physical touch scorching against Yuuri's skin as he idly presses slow indulgent kisses to the inside arch of Yuuri's foot.

 

Yuuri is sublime, spread out over Victor's bed, bound and tangled and weighed down in gold medals. He's a Turner masterpiece, a sunset bathed in golds, shrouded in light, luminous. As he grazes his teeth lightly over the jut of Yuuri's ankle bone Victor allows himself to admire how gold _really is Yuuri's color_. The way it warms against his skin, how it reflects and brings out the gold flecks in Yuuri's eyes.

 

Victor pushes the leg he has in his hand up and out and leans in close to press a kiss against Yuuri's most recent acquisition from World's where it rests against his chest, metal warmed by skin, sitting beside Victor's own gold medal from Sochi (the olympics – only the best for his Yuuri).

 

Yuuri's toes curl at the stretch, shivers when Victor presses closer, breath hot against his ear.

 

“Do you think you can take another?”

 

Yuuri's eyes roll back at the thought, in his current position he's already so spread open, the near split that Victor is pressing him into emphasizing the full press of the four medals they've already managed to fit inside him (among them include Victor's 2006 World's nestled beside his own Junior World's gold from 2008). He nods fervently, lips wet and bitten red, eyes glazed. The silk of the ribbons brushes against his inner thigh as he shifts.

 

Victor's eyes go hungry again as he presses a bruising kiss to Yuuri's lips, unable to resist biting into the plump shape of Yuuri's lower lip before parting to fumble into the pile of medals that he haphazardly dumped onto the bed in his haste at the beginning of this endeavor.

 

Victor pulls out his most recent World's medal ( _Stay Close to Me, indeed_ ) and spares a moment to be thankful that the ISU chooses to make them at such a _convenient_ size.

 

Yuuri gasps when he feels the cool touch of metal against were he's warm and soft and slick with lube, he tries to relax as Victor slowly slides it into him. When the cool weight of it settles beside the ones already there he feels the movement press against the spot that has him gasping, his back arching as he finally finally comes, spattering across Victor's olympic gold from Vancouver where it sits, balanced and warmed in the cradle of his hip.

 

Yuuri's skin has barely stopped buzzing after his first orgasm, his own come a decadent smear across his stomach when Victor rests Yuuri's leg on his shoulder, presses a kiss to the inside of his knee and lazily strokes Yuuri's cock, leaning down to press another kiss to its tip.

 

“You did it Yuuri, five international titles, like I always knew you could.”

 

Yuuri shudders at the praise, at the hot breath puffed out against his cock – raw and oversensitive, at the inexorable press of metal inside him just this side of _too much_. He strains against where his wrists are bound in silk, where his arms are weighed down by their combined accumulation of medals - overwhelmed as Victor picks up Vancouver from where it was resting on his hip to run the uneven surface of it against his cock while sucking vivid, devouring bruises onto the inside of his thigh.

 

Yuuri is a mess of open nerves between the skin warmed ridges of metal running along his cock, the hot mouth sucking marks into the thin skin of his thighs inching ever upwards, the medals holding him open, unyielding and hard against his prostate – undone and oversensitive, even the open air feels too harsh against his skin.

 

Victor is relentless as he makes his way to Yuuri's cock and swallows it down the base, his lips brushing against the medal he set on top of Yuuri's pelvis. Yuuri would've jackknifed at the sensation ( _too much too much_ ) if Victor's hand's hadn't been pressing him down, indents dimpling on his hips, more marks blooming in their wake.

 

Right as Yuuri is dangling on the precipice, Victor pulls off, squeezing the base of Yuuri's cock even as Yuuri whimpers, tears beading along the dark sweep of his lashes, clinging like jewels.

 

Victor shushes him, places a soft kiss on the crease of Yuuri's thigh before sliding up trailing kisses along his abdomen, to the peak of his nipple, the side of his neck, the corner of his mouth, and finally over Yuuri's lips, his tongue a hot sweep licking along Yuuri's soft palate where Victor knows he's sensitive. He drinks in Yuuri's moans, savoring them, reluctant to pull away as he traces the seam of Yuuri's mouth.

 

He shifts so that their cocks align and swallows another whimper before it can escape the perfect plump curve of Yuuri's mouth. Yuuri has a mouth that was made to be kissed, and Victor is dutiful in making sure it is, thoroughly and often.

 

He tears himself away from them and their sweet spit shine before moving down to the elegant column of Yuuri's neck, a perfect blank canvas that Victor is all to eager to mark to match the decorations he left on Yuuri's thighs. His hand curls around where their cocks are pressed flush against each other and a savage gratification pools in his gut as Yuuri arches back, the line of his throat bared and curving toward his lips, an offering.

 

He accepts the invitation with relish, mouth hard and hot, lingering along the familiar path as he grips their cocks tighter, speeds up the pace, pressing his thumbnail lightly into the slit of Yuuri's dick and reveling in the shocked moan torn out of Yuuri's throat, vibrating against the skin of his lips. Yuuri's arms strain uselessly against silk and gold, his fingers twitching, begging to touch where they're flush against each other, to complete the circle of Victor's hand around their cocks.

 

“Can you give me another _Yuuri_? I know you can,” Victor practically purrs out his name, rumbled out from somewhere deep and dark in his chest, “ _Yuuri, Yuuri, give it to me.”_ Victor's own breaths grow ragged, murmuring into Yuuri's skin where its soft, where the blood vessels wind and pulse under his jaw.

 

Yuuri's second orgasm feels punched out of him, he comes hard enough that some of it splatters along the underside of his chin. Victor follows moments after, undone by Yuuri's undoing. He licks Yuuri's chin softly, savoring the taste of their release combined against the salt of Yuuri's skin.

 

Yuuri's mouth parts in want, his eyes flicking to Victor's hand, the one that's covered in their semen. Victor lifts it, presses his thumb to Yuuri's lips, smearing it across as Yuuri's tongue chases the pad of his finger before pressing in.

 

Yuuri is a dream made flesh, from the inky fall of his hair and the red flush of his skin, the soft pink head of his dick, lying coquettishly against his stomach, framed by the marks that would fit the curve of Victor's fingers and lips and teeth. Yuuri is a dream wrapped in silk and gold – perfect and obscene, their semen painted and smeared along his stomach and chest.

 

“Ты так прекрасен.”

 

The words sound almost breathless, scraped out of Victor's lungs like an inevitability. Yuuri's eyes focus back on Victor when he hears them, his dick gives a valiant twitch.

 

A wicked smirk slashes its way across Victor's face, “ _My Yuuri,_ so insatiable.” His tone is at the surface, light and playful, but there's nothing innocent about the intent burning behind the heat of his gaze.

 

His hands are a brand, trailing down Yuuri's sides, his hips, squeezing lightly over his thighs before hooking behind Yuuri's knees, fingers curled over the soft skin underneath. He pushes up and out, one knee draped over his shoulder, the other pressed near Yuuri's ear ( _his Yuuri, so flexible_ ).

 

He's eye level with the perfect curve of Yuuri's ass now, where its overflowing with gold, a waterfall of silk ribbon trailing out of him.

 

“Идеально, золотце моё.”

 

Victor presses a lingering kiss over the convergence of silk where Yuuri is overstuffed with buried treasure. The light pressure sends a shock down Yuuri's spine, he's already so sensitive, and the medals are an unyielding press over his prostate. Despite himself his dick begins to fill.

 

Yuuri sucks in a harsh breath as he feels a light tug on one of the medals inside him. Victor smooths a kiss over one of many vivid bruises forming on the inside of his thigh.

 

When he coaxes the first one out of him Yuuri is already a shaking mess of nerves, overwhelmed, eyes fever bright. When Victor drops the first medal onto his chest, it burns blood-hot, warmed by his insides and that thought hits him like a physical blow racing straight to Yuuri's cock, where precum is already beginning to beat at the tip.

 

“Steady, cолнышко моё,” Victor lazily twirls the remaining ribbons around his rim, the smooth slide still too much over the oversensitive skin, “remember not until you get _all five_.”

 

By the time Victor is teasing the third one out Yuuri is a wreck; straining and white knuckled, his face splotchy and his lips bitten to hell. By the fourth if he arches his back anymore, he think's he'll break in half. When the fifth one finally slides out he comes with a half choked sob, tears leaving glistening tracks down the apple of his splotchy cheeks.

 

Victor gaze on him is a banked flame, he leans down and gently smooths down Yuuri's hair, cups his hands on his cheeks and wipes away the tears with a gentle brush of his thumbs. Yuuri leans into his touch, eyes closed, overwhelmed with sensation and Victor presses gentle lingering kisses onto each eyelid.

 

“You did perfectly, just like I knew you could. You're so beautiful,” his murmurs grow quieter but no less fervent, “we're almost there, do you think you can still-”

 

Yuuri cuts off his question with a desperate kiss, made sloppy by his current dazed state, but no less wonderful.

 

“ _Please,”_ his voice is hoarse, reedy when it scrapes out of his throat.

 

Victor doesn't break eye contact as he kisses the last medal he pulled out – slick with lube and feverishly hot against his lips. He puts it aside afterwards to reach for where he dropped his Turin gold medal earlier. He pouts slightly at it, remembering his initial disappointment at the fact that it could fit over neither of their cocks. He traces his thumb over the hole in the center, before realizing that despite the _absolute tragedy_ of not being able to use it as a cock ring other body parts can fit through it just fine (parts like fingers and tongues).

 

Yuuri shudders when he feels the coolness of metal press against the puffy outline of his rim where his nerves are hot and hypersensitive. He's barely gathered his scattered thoughts before his mind goes blank with the contrast of the hot press of Victor's tongue inside him.

 

Victor thinks every part of Yuuri is perfect; this naturally of course extends to his ass. Victor thinks, he _knows_ that he can eat Yuuri out for hours at a time. Until his jaw is sore and his tongue cramps.

 

When Victor dedicates himself to learning something he's always thrown himself into it with a single-minded focus. Hours, years, a lifetime spent training, conditioning, carving lines into ice. He wants to dedicate every hour, every year, the rest of his life to learning Yuuri, his moods and his smiles, from the sole of his foot (where if he presses down just right after a long day of practice will make Yuuri go pliant and soft, tension bleeding out of his body) to the soft spot behind his ear (where a lingering kiss will make Yuuri go soft and pliant in different ways, his neck lolled back against Victor's shoulder an unspoken invitation in the bared line of his throat).

 

It's armed with this knowledge that Victor slides in a finger alongside his tongue and curves it just so (so mercilessly against where Yuuri is already raw and swollen) that Yuuri sees stars implode behind his eyelids, a few blots of semen forced out of his dick, nearly wrung dry even as electricity races under his skin.

 

Victor slowly lowers Yuuri's legs so that they're splayed on either side of him, gently smoothes his fingertips along Yuuri's sides. He leans in to brush a gentle kiss to Yuuri's brow, and runs his hand over where Yuuri's are bound in silk and gold, “Do these still feel okay?”

 

Yuuri wriggles his fingers and nods. He smiles into the next kiss that Victor presses to his mouth. Every inch of his skin feels like an open nerve and when Victor reflexively grinds against him he feels his entire body jolt. Victor abruptly pulls away, and Yuuri whimpers at the loss.

 

“Is this too much? Do you want to stop?”

 

Yuuri's response is to clamp his thighs tighter around Victor and grind up, “ _Please,”_ he breathes out, _“don't stop.”_ He tilts his hips up, eyes piercing, permission carved in the splay of his legs.

 

Victor leans back into the cradle of Yuuri's thighs, kisses him – hard, voraciously, he swallows down Yuuri's moans when he presses his cock inside where Yuuri is slick and hot, oversensitive – he kisses him through his shudders and moans, fingers twining into feathery dark hair, digging into the meat of Yuuri's thigh.

 

Victor fucks into him with slow, deliberate strokes, unerringly brushing against where he's already so raw, so overstimulated. His nipples ache from where they brush against Victor's skin, and he chokes out another gasp when Victor lightly grazes his teeth over one of the impressive hickeys he left on his neck earlier. Victor's hips stutter ever so slightly at the sound, and when their eyes meet Yuuri feels overwhelmed and pinned down by that stare; the wild dark of Victor's gaze, the flush around his cheeks, the way the evening light wreaths his hair in silver, iridescent.

 

His fifth orgasm feels torn out of him, lighting him from the inside out until he's expanding beyond his skin, every part of him, overflowing, tingling, never ending. Yuuri isn't sure how long he floats in this liminal haze of pleasure. Victor fucks him through it (balanced that delicious knife edge of _too much and not enough and on the precipice of a most exquisite pain_ ) and follows after him spilling inside Yuuri hot and deep a brief eternity later.

 

When Victor is finally able to catch his breath he fumbles with the medals tying down Yuuri's wrists. He gently smoothes out the aches and strains, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of each wrist, brushing his lips over each knuckle.

 

“That was perfect,” he says between kisses, “ _you_ are perfect  любовь моя,” he murmers into the the curve of Yuuri's wristbone, fingers running gently over muscle and tendon, “звездочка моя”. Victor continues, soft kisses traveling up Yuuri's shoulder, following where he's smoothing down the soft feathery tufts of Yuuri's hair, gently sprinkling kisses on the flyaway strands. 

 

Yuuri soaks it in, let's it wash over him, a tide pool warmed by the radiance of the sun. Let's Victor's words sink into his skin, a continuous murmur of praise, of love overflowing. When he's finally sunk back down into his own bones, Yuuri tightens his own fingers around Victor's.

 

“Feel up to a bath?”

 

Yuuri nods, his hair tickling under Victor's chin.

 

Victor presses a kiss to the crown of his head, “I'll be right back,” then he wraps Yuuri snugly in the skin warmed sheets before getting up to start the bath. Yuuri is dozing in his cocoon when hears Victor come back, sliding his arms under Yuuri's shoulder's and knees, lifting him up. He wraps his arms loosely around Victor as he's hoisted up.

 

The hot water is a balm against the soreness of his body and Yuuri sighs, sags, sinking bonelessly back into Victor's chest, bracketed by Victor's knees in the tub, cradled against the curve of his body.

 

Victor is both gentle and thorough in his ministrations; lathering up Yuuri's skin and rinsing it off, chasing the water droplets down his neck and shoulders with his lips. Gently massaging shampoo into Yuuri's scalp before rinsing it off, Yuuri's hair liquid silk between his fingers. Victor gently rubs down Yuuri's entire body until he's nothing more than a puddle of warmth inside the tub, practically sinking into Victor's skin.

 

They doze, Victor gently dotting kisses from the curve of Yuuri's shoulder, from the nape of his neck, under his jaw, behind his ear, to his temple, each one interspersed with quiet praise and endearments heavy on his skin, sinking all the way down to his bones. They doze until the water is lukewarm, and Victor lets it drain, tucking a towel securely around Yuuri's shoulders.

 

“I'm going to go change the sheets,” he brushes a slow kiss into Yuuri's palm, “I'll be back before you know it.”

 

Victor dumps the medals he left on the bed in a box (he idly wonders if you can send silk ribbons to the dry cleaners) and balls the sheets caked with dry semen and lube (practically a biohazard at this point) and throws them into the laundry room making sure to grab some fresh sheets on the way out.

 

He helps pat Yuuri the rest of the way dry before scooping him up into his arms again. Yuuri gives a token protest over being carried again, but he's feeling so warm and loose and nice that he's already curling in closer before he's done complaining.

 

When they're curled together under the covers, bodies curved (nested together like a quotation mark), legs tangled, Yuuri twines his fingers with Victor's and brings them to his lips, tender and soft and sure, “I love you,” ghosting across their knuckles, Victor presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, curls tighter around him, holds him close ( _and never lets go)_.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to give a special thank you to [lin](http://linnorm.tumblr.com/) for helping me out with the Russian, you are an absolute treasure 8D
> 
> And as always a special shoutout to the discord for enabling and encouraging me you guys are the true MVPs
> 
> Translations:  
> Ты так прекрасен | You're so beautiful  
> Идеально, золотце моё | Perfect, my golden (literally), sweetheart.  
> Cолнышко моё | sun (literally), sunshine; sweetheart, darling  
> Любовь моя | love  
> Звездочка моя | star
> 
> Additional notes on the gold medals and sizing:
> 
> [2014 Sochi](https://gearjunkie.com/legacy/images/14737.jpg)  
> [2010 Vancouver](http://www1.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/Unveiling+Vancouver+2010+Olympic+Paralympic+9l6CIKzzO42l.jpg)  
> [2006 Turin](http://www.vancouversun.com/sports/cms/binary/2103727.jpg?size=640x420)  
> [World Championships](http://www2.pictures.zimbio.com/gi/ISU+World+Figure+Skating+Championships+2016+NtqtjdT1q3pl.jpg) (note how much smaller and _conveniently_ sized they are...)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [my tungle](https://lyefish.tumblr.com)


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